


Dominus

by Persephonesheart



Series: Malec random one-shots [9]
Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Ancient Rome, BAMF Magnus Bane, Comfort Sex, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Forced Prostitution, Forced Relationship, Honestly why do I hurt Alec so much, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Passion, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, True Love, he's my favourite character and I cause him so much pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-04-12 00:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephonesheart/pseuds/Persephonesheart
Summary: Magnus is stuck in the blood ridden sands of the arena and Alec is stuck in the confines of the house. Both forced to be where they are, both unable to find an escape. Forced to work in the house of Valentine, Magnus and Alec find themselves in a love they must hide in order to stay alive, but when their love is discovered, how far will Magnus go to keep his Alexander safe?
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Jocelyn Fairchild/Valentine Morgenstern, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago
Series: Malec random one-shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350316
Comments: 51
Kudos: 264





	1. The start of everything

Magnus scoffed from his position on the _Ludus’_ grainy training floor. The sun was baring down on his mostly bare body, burning away at his skin and causing buckets of sweat to pour in ripples down his back and chest.

It was a punishment deliberately designed to be uncomfortable, painful, to be stood out in weather like this, the scars and cuts of various _ludum gladitorians_ and _venatoriums_ of the past tightening on his skin like icy fire.

Magnus and the rest of the gladiators of Valentine’s ludus stood in a series of perfectly formed lines of six, muscles and scars proudly on display as they remained silent and submissive in the presence of their _dominus_, their master.

The Indonesian swore that every time Valentine’s beady eyes swivelled in his direction the brand on his arm – a small circle that’s redness and pinching pain seemed never to die no matter how many years he’d had it – flared with even more pain.

He wouldn’t have put it past Valentine to find someway of making that happen.

Magnus and the rest of the gladiators had been up since before dawn’s early rays for their breakfast, a short period of about twenty minutes where they had relative peace, before beginning their gruelling gladiatorial practice had begun with them running laps for an hour – something only Valentine’s ludus seemed to enforce.

Jonathon had been in fine form that morning with his whip, flicking it with disgraceful and humiliating intention towards anyone who so much as breathed at the wrong time, Ragnor had been hit multiple times that morning during the run and Magnus was chomping at the bit prepared to take the blond bastard down.

He probably could, he wasn’t _the Hero of Alicante _for nothing.

He had slain more men than any other alive, he was _Valentine’s favourite._

They had been allowed no breaks, no stops for water or food, and by midday the powerful group of warriors were flagging dangerously under the baking sun.

Blood was pouring freely from a number of cuts on his body, a forest of bruises on his abdomen from Jonathon’s relentless beating after he helped Raphael up from the ludus floor. He was dizzy from the heat and lack of hydration, his muscles screaming in need for rest.

The other men were all the same, bodies flagging under the ceaseless pain and torment they had been subjected to.

Their training had carried on for a few more hours of brutal, non-stop trails and practice fights. Jonathon thrived on the pain of others and forced them all to fight over and over, each time yelling and screaming at them to become more aggressive and life-threatening with their attacks. Magnus could only take so much, but Jonathon always wanted more.

Finally, after a ceaseless wasteland of blood and screaming, they had been ordered to stop and assume their formation. They stood like one machine, equally spaced, hands behind their backs, feet shoulder width apart.

They were an unstoppable army, should Valentine every require them to be.

For now, Magnus stared at their _dominus _with passion in his eyes and fury in his heart. A blue fire of old, trapped in a cage of chains and kept bound by the memories of his family.

Valentine stood above them, ignorant or uncaring of their pain, unwilling to acknowledge their fatigue. The Asian knew he’d been standing there for over ten minutes now without the elder male saying anything, just his beady little eyes, staring and analysing his property like they were no more than fish in a barrel.

Beside him Ragnor’s breathing was harsh and hoarse. It had been for some time and Magnus feared what it would mean for his oldest friend should Valentine ever find out his slave wasn’t in the best of conditions. He hoped he couldn’t hear it from his balcony above.

He hoped he still had time to get Ragnor away from this place.

This was their punishment, he knew. One of the ludus’ gladiators had fallen in the arena during yesterdays game, a bloody, gruesome, affair, and now Valentine was punishing the rest of them for it.

“Do you understand,” He finally began, voice loud and angry with the fury of losing _denarius _on a fallen fighter, “why you are here?” His voice trailed off, falling away with the wind and to the grainy floor Magnus was stood upon.

Magnus scoffed again at this ignorance; no man here could forget why he was in this place.

The brand on his arm flared in pain.

“I trusted each and every one of you to be the best,” he screamed, fury uncontained as he paced form one end of his balcony to the other, his wild eyes darting to every face below him like a predator. “I bring you into _my _ludus, give you the best training, the best food, the best _weapons_,” he leaned far over the side of the balcony, as if trying to reach down and touch the very men he was insulting.

Red marred his skin, as the anger flared in his face and he spat out his words with venom, “and _this _is how I am repaid, by one of you pathetic weaklings, **DYING!**”

He looked to Magnus as if he was taking a calming breath, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose as his wife, the fair skinned and avaricious Jocelyn, stroked her hand gently up and down his arm. She whispered poison in his ear, words of torment and pain, and Magnus saw as Valentine stood a little taller, his anger draining away as he turned cold eyes back to the men below him.

He watched them latch onto Ragnor, watched them see the shaky breaths and weak rise and fall.

His heart collapsed.

Valentine pressed as forward to his balcony as possible, hands gripping tightly to the edge as he spoke with a calm and measured tone. “I will show you what your weakness earns, I will give you a reason to fight like I am teaching you to.”

Dead eyes looked to the man wielding the whip and nodded once only. Dread settled like a rock in Magnus’ stomach, his hands became clammy and detached. He could feel no part of his own body.

Without a word Jonathon stormed forward, frown set as sadistic eyes lit up in anticipation. He grabbed Ragnor by the shoulder and threw him to the ground, foot colliding with dull thuds as he repeatedly kicked and stomped on his limp body.

Ragnor tried to keep his mouth shut, tried to stay strong, but moans of pain and cries of surprise left his mouth as he attempted to fight the onslaught of attacks from a foe a thousand time stronger than he. Magnus looked up in anger, staring straight into the eyes of the demon he was forced to call his _dominus. _

_He was smiling._

Cruel and sadistic, with teeth glinting in the sun. He was enjoying the pain; he was getting off on it. He turned and his dark eyes collided with Magnus’ own and the smile on his face changed, it became darker, less sane.

He shouted something unintelligible to Jonathon without his eyes ever leaving Magnus’ and the sound of thudding stopped almost instantly.

“Not a strong enough lesson?” He questioned almost gaily; arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture.

Magnus wanted to eat his heart raw.

He spoke calmly to Jonathon once more in a language no one understood, and finally Magnus turned his eyes away to witness the blond dragging Ragnor by one, clearly broken, arm, to the pole in the middle of the courtyard.

It was old and chipping, the wood like a thousand daggers when you touched it. Jonathon pressed Ragnor’s front directly onto it, forcing his arms up behind him and tied them tightly with the blood soaked chains that dangled from the top.

There was a heavy silence over the courtyard, broken only by the pained breathing and gasps of Ragnor as he attempted to get away from the pinpricks of pain stabbing viciously at his chest. “Jonathon.” Valentine stated as he pulled Jocelyn closer to him, the pair of them watching Ragnor with determined gleans in their eyes.

“You know what to do.”

Magnus wanted to scream, wanted to fight his way to the front of the crowd and fight for his friend. He wanted to separate Jonathon’s head from his body and pulverise Valentine into the gruel that they were forced to eat every morning.

He wanted them both to suffer.

But he couldn’t. If he wanted Ragnor to have any chance of surviving, he _needed _to keep quiet, keep his head down and watch the punishment. He steeled his heart as the whip was coiled tightly around Jonathon’s wrist and rose in the sky.

Golden eyes turned one last time to face the balcony, turned to see the happy faces of his masters as they watched one of their playthings get roughed up by their son, Valentine whispering sweet nothings into his wife’s ear as she giggled at the scene below them.

He looked beyond the pair to the indoor servants and slaves collected behind them. Pathetic, the whole lot of them. They didn’t understand the pain Magnus and the rest of the gladiators went through, sheltered behind comfortable walls, spending their time serving wine and food and doing little else.

How dare Valentine call him, his friends, _pathetic, _when creatures like the ones who served the masters like _that_ existed, when not one of them received any punishment or harm, when not one of them even knew they strength or power of holding a sword or knowing how to fight and feel the exhilaration of being in the arena.

They stood perfectly made up in dainty dresses for the women and subligaria’s and loincloths down to the knee for the men. Slaves dressed up perfectly, kept clean and without scars, hair done beautifully and light make-up covering their faces. Why did they deserve such pleasantness whilst Magnus was down on the grainy ludus floor all day, with blood and sweat marring his skin as he was forced to watch his best friend punished for the death of another.

His eyes caught sight of a slave towards the back. His black hair falling over his eyes and down to his chin in swooping waves with bee-sting lips frowning sadly at the display before him.

He was androgynous in his appearance, milky pale lines and smooth skin, with brightly piercing blue eyes that were deep pools of pain. If only sculptors of great could carve him, Magnus thought briefly, the perhaps then Ganymede would find competition in a slave boy.

Magnus watched the boy close his eyes as the first lash of the whip sounded off Ragnor, and the painful grunt ripped out of his throat unbidden and undesired. His attraction went away almost instantly at the sign of obvious weakness.

What a deception are human eyes, Magnus thought, hiding away what we do not want to see.

* * *

Alec was still reeling from the display in the courtyard earlier. That man, Ragnor, he believed him to be called, deserved nothing of what was given to him. No one deserved that amount of humiliation or pain; especially not because of the accidental death of another.

He could say nothing against it, his _dominus _would punish him with even less mercy.

The evening had passed with relative peace afterwards, with the training stopping almost instantly as a half-dead, bloodied pulp of a man was dragged uncaringly to the medic’s office in the ludus below.

Perhaps Alec would say a prayer tonight, to _Aesculapius, _and hope the man made a speedy recovery, or perhaps he would pray for his death, and hope the man found some peace in the afterlife. He was unsure of which would be better.

The rest of the slaves had been quiet since, silent in their shock and despair over the display, and Alec had taken some of their roles to ease the horror in their eyes. He did not wish for any under his command to be punished because they could not keep their minds focused enough not to drop one of Jocelyn’s expensive vases.

Quiet footsteps announce his presence to the endless rooms of the villa, and Alec thinks back to the moment just before Ragnor was hit. Anger, eyes glaring like fire, aimed at him with teeth gritted and nostrils flared; _Magnus _he knows this man to be called.

Valentine’s champion.

The pale slave does not understand why the gladiator looked upon him with such anger in his eyes, he had done no wrong in the situation, he had not caused Ragnor to be punished, nor had he done the punishing. Not even did his golden eyes, enchanting though they were, show so much anger towards the _dominus _and _domina _of the house.

It confused him greatly, to see such animosity from another slave_. _Surely Magnus was aware they were on the same side? Shouldn’t he understand that Alec _wasn’t _the villain?

Even so, the man was attractive, almost god-like in appearance and that brief second of eye-contact would no doubt get him through many nights in the future. He was tall, with tanned, golden, muscles that glistened in the sun. His face was made of sharp lines and marble carved features, with eyes so ensnaring in their golden hues that he had found himself instantly enraptured.

Magnus was no mere man, nor a mortal being of any kind.

Abruptly, he was pulled out of his musings by a small blur of red darting towards him and forcing him to stumble back into the pillar behind him.

Clary stood before him, hair styled fashionably in braids that fell like waterfalls and a silk tunic that hung provocatively from her small frame. Her eyes followed the lines of his torso, down to his feet and back up before a wide smile broke onto her face, canine’s flashing from the torchlight surrounding them.

Alec quickly remembered his training and gave a small bow of respect towards her, mouth sewn shut and eyes lowered to the floor. She quickly lost interest in him and turned her gaze to one of her brothers, Jace, who was waling down the corridor in the opposite direction. Her hand pointed lazily towards one of the doors in the opposite direction and her voice was distracted as Jace proceeded to flirt with one of the slave women further down the hall.

“My father wishes to see you in the _caldarium.” _

Alec frowned instantly at the mention of the hot room of the baths but bowed once again in respect to the young mistress of the house and turned to find his master. Vaguely, he noticed Clary rush off to hide behind a pillar as Jace began tearing the dress off of the slave girl from earlier.

He would find her tonight and make sure she received some oils. It was the least he could do to protect her.

The walk to the bathhouse was too short, and Alec could feel the darkness and disgust buried within him clawing to the surface as he entered the room. Jocelyn lay at the far side of the bath, her handmaids caressing her naked body with warm water as they rubbed scented oils into her skin and brushed out her burning hair with dead eyes and cold, emotionless faces.

She was humming an unknown song to herself, turning her head this way and that to allow the girls around her to reach the best spots on her body. He wanted to sneer at the sight of the serene smile on her face; didn’t she care that a man was almost beaten to death?

No, Alec reminded himself sternly, she couldn’t give one fuck about the people she and Valentine owned.

Valentine strode into the room seconds later, wrapped lightly in a robe which Alec hastily moved to remove from his body. Happiness radiated off his person as he stepped quickly into the warm water with his wife, arms outstretched in thankfulness.

To whom, Alec did not know.

“What a glorious group of men!” He chanted loudly, striding forward until he was knee deep in water, the girls around them kept their faces down and the mouths shut, hoping to remain invisible to the _dominus _of the house.

“Magnus’ victories in the arena ignite the fires of the citizens of the city,” Alec realised the winnings from yesterday’s fights must have finally come in, nothing like money spurned a happy mood from Valentine. “The number of people who revere our name rise as every sun sets in the sky.” He clenched his fist with determination, no doubt imagining throes of people who worship his name.

Jocelyn opened her eyes and cast a scathing glance at her husband, whilst Alec stood at the edge of the water, awaiting command quietly as he always does when he was requested to his master’s side. “And so,” she began, sitting up and allowing her hands to fall into the water around her, “does the number of people who wish to see you fail.”

An unbothered growl ripped from Valentine’s throat as Alec was beckoned forward with a flick of his wrist. With shaking hands he unwrapped his subligaria, neatly folding it onto the floor, and stepped into the heated waters of the bath. “I would see all men who oppose me, pay for their grievances,” the man began as Alec gently dipped a sponge in the water and began washing away the sweat of the day.

Valentine waded a little deeper into the water, and, obedient and submissive as always, Alec followed him gracefully. Jocelyn once again raised her hands delicately above the water level and allowed her handmaidens to continue their work on her body. “I would prefer, my darling, that you remove these threats now rather than later.”

Eyes peered down upon his chest as Valentine waved a hand to dismiss his wife’s words. “We have more pressing matters.” He spoke, and a harsh hand gripped Alec’s in a bruising grip and forced him to grab onto Valentine’s erect cock. Alec kept his eyes down and breathed in a sharp breath at the touch.

This is what he hated most.

Jocelyn spoke with half-lidded eyes as she watched the movement of Alec’s hand on her husband’s member. “Do you mean the whipping boy from earlier?” She questioned as Valentine forced Alec to rotate his wrist harder and faster.

“Not the matter I was meaning.” He grunted out; hips begin to thrust forward in pleasure. The smaller dark haired boy fought to keep his face neutral and continue his task of cleaning up his master. The worse part of the evening was coming and he could do nothing but take his mind far away.

Jocelyn purred in pleasure at her husband’s actions and turned her steely gaze upon Alec’s form, emulating her daughter’s earlier actions and looking at his body up and down. “Have the boy’s ass, I wish to watch.”

Valentine let out a joyous laugh at the suggestion and immediately Alec found himself turned around and bent over, his hands gripping tightly to the marble below him.

There was no preparation, no warning, before Valentine’s cock ripped into him from behind; only the barest amount of spit to guide the way. His thrusts were forceful and damaging, reaching far into him and tearing him apart.

Alec stifled a cry as Valentine pressed his body closer, pumping his hips in a languorous manner as if trying to scoop out his insides. Eyes wide open, Alec allowed his mind to drift to happier times in the hopes of ignoring the searing, red hot pain from behind and the resounding laughter and moans from the couple surrounding him. He listened with ears half open to the exchanging words between the couple and imagined golden green eyes and tanned hands on his hips instead.

With every thrust, Alec flinched in pain, his body unable to cope with the never-ending pain and humiliation.

The other slaves in the room refused to look him in the eye, keeping their heads down and mouths shut as they went about their business. Suddenly, the air around him seemed to get tighter and Alec struggled to breath as Valentine tugged harshly on the collar around his neck. His body was propelled backwards by a rough pull around his neck that caused him to gasp aloud as Valentine forced his cock further into Alec with little care.

He felt the sensation of his back being pressed to Valentine’s front, saw the dark spots before him as air left him abandoned, felt the wet heat of spilled seed in his ass as Valentine ground against him one final time.

Rough hands pushed his body harshly away and Alec turned dutifully, picked up the sponge that had laid abandoned floating on the waters surface and continued to clean his master.

It was all he could do.

* * *

For a few days, Magnus truly believed Ragnor would not make it. Hungrily, he had survived on tidbits of information provided to him from Raphael, who, in turn, had received them from Catarina the medic. But the latest news was that Ragnor would make a full recovery with rest, which for some reason, Valentine had granted.

Perhaps he was trying to show mercy to his slaves.

Another thought had occupied his mind for some nights however, a blue eyed creature of grace and poise that crawled into his dreams like vapour and gave pleasure upon appearance. Ever since he had seen the boy on the balcony behind Valentine, creamy skin unblemished and untainted, free from punishment and harm, Magnus had felt a stirring of desire like no other since Camille.

It had panicked him the first night, Magnus wasn’t expecting it and was slightly horrified at what depravities his mind played, but he soon accepted it.

It would be nice, he mollified himself, to have such a lover, whom Magnus could spoil and treasure like no other. It was also unobtainable, as the house slaves would never deign to come down and be seen amongst the gladiators, even if they were allowed to do so.

Who would want to be with a ruthless killer like Magnus after all?

When news had come that Ragnor would make a hearty recovery, Magnus threw his all into training once more, mind worried but no longer distracted by the thoughts of his friend passing away without him being nearby to provide comfort and wish him well.

Jonathon’s unnerving eyes refused to leave his form for the first few days, clearly expecting some kind of outburst he could punish, but it had eventually turned away when Magnus did not give him what he so desired. The ludus had turned back to how it was before, and the gladiator’s continued to prepare for the next arena competition in a few days’ time.

Once again, Magnus would be presented to the crowds as the _Hero of Alicante _and made to fight endless streams of men for the entertainment of the crowds. It was regular now, and Magnus no longer revered the worship he received from the men and women of Idris.

A loud whistle broke his training focus and Magnus, along with the rest of the court yard it seemed, turned to face the noise. Surprisingly, it was Jonathon who made the noise and caused the disruption, eyes fixated onto a point beyond Magnus’ shoulder and the Indonesian quickly turned around to see what had so captured the attention of their _doctore. _

A startled gasp left Magnus’ lips unbidden as he watched the slave from before, and the demon who haunted his dreams, walk determinedly across the ludus’ sandy floors. His blue eyes held no light or warmth, only blue fires of darkness, and his chin was raised proudly as he approached the gladiators. He was trying hard to hide his fear and trepidation, Magnus realised, as he watched the boys hand shake slightly at the full force of the group watching him so intently.

With a closer look, Magnus created a stronger image in his mind of the boy’s apperance and subconsciously stored it away for later. The house slave was smaller than he, though that was not exactly a difficult task, but towered above many others, with a lithe figure filled out with taunt muscles that appeared as he walked.

Skin paler that the clouds in the sky and smoother than the silk from his homeland, Magnus gazed upon the beauty moving swiftly towards him and licked his suddenly dry lips. A subligaria of deep red covered the boy’s modesty, leaving his firm, nubile chest on display and his nymph-like legs for viewing pleasure.

A collar was tight around his throat, drawing attention to the pleasing sight of his swan like neck which Magnus wanted to sink his teeth into.

Whilst the skin was highly pleasing to Magnus’ eyes, the lack of markings on his body also confirmed what he had known all along. The house slaves lived sheltered lives in comparison, and they suffered no punishment for their actions like the gladiators did, it made the dormant anger within him stir and wake like a dragon.

Around him the men clamoured together, hooting and shouting at the sight of the boy coming towards them, making crude remarks and gestures that the boy struggled to ignore. But as Magnus looked into the eyes of his friends, he knew the boy had equally ensnared them in his thrall.

Jonathon held out his hand and the boy passed along a note to him, Magnus recognising the writing as Valentine’s. He held in a groan at the thought of receiving orders now, when everything had just settled back into normalcy.

The black haired beauty turned and began to walk back but a stout whistle from Jonathon’s lips caused his body to freeze. “Alexander,” his slimy voice called out, hand once more outstretched as he called the boy back to him. “You wouldn’t leave without saying a proper goodbye would you?”

Jonathon’s voice was deceptively sweet, with honeyed words falling from his mouth like blood from a wound. The boy, _Alexander, _turned reluctantly, eyes looking to the floor as he slowly approached the outstretched palm.

The courtyard was silent as all watched the interaction, breaths caught as Jonathon roughly grabbed the collar around the pale neck and yanked it harshly forward, causing Alexander to stumble and fall into Jonathon’s waiting arms.

Without missing a second, the boy’s chin was dragged harshly upwards as Jonathon forced hip lips onto the boy’s own, hands roughly groping at the skin on his neck and hips. Magnus shuffled where he stood, uncomfortable with the display before him and noted that those around him seemed to be doing the same.

Alexander could only be eighteen to Jonathon’s thirty one.

Magnus’ golden eyes locked on to the blue of the boy’s and widened in surprise at the lack of _anything _he found there. They were dull, faded with hatred and exhaustion, almost as if in a haze, taking their owner’s mind to another world where he wasn’t being publicly groped by his _dominus’ _son.

With an over enthusiastic smacking sound, Jonathon parted from Alexander and pushed him away, sending him off with a wave of his hand. With only a slight bow, Alexander turned and walked back towards the house, head held high and steps fast-paced, mouth shut in a harsh line. Turning back to Jonathon, Magnus was unsurprised to see the desire in his lust-blown eyes as he followed the pathway of Alexander’s legs.

The rest of the gladiators turned their attention back to Jonathon, silent as they watched him read the letter from Valentine. His face gave no indication of what was written, the only movement being his eyes as they scanned each line in quick succession.

Then, with an evil smirk which would rival the cruelest of slave masters, Jonathan faced the crowd of gladiators before him.

“Magnus Bane!” He yelled, cold eyes searching for his familiar frame. With a lack of hesitation embedded in his from his years of training, Magnus stepped forward bravely, keeping his head high and eyes to the ground. Jonathon’s smile turned into something more sleazy, and a slimy feeling erupted over Magnus’ skin like a coat.

“You have been called to Valentine’s chambers.”

Magnus let out a soft ‘shit’ and closed his eyes in disbelief. 


	2. Oh my darling, forgive me

Parties were perhaps Alec’s least favourite thing about working in the household and not the _ludus _downstairs. Valentine only ever threw them for two reasons; to celebrate his wealth and success in the arena and to expand his name across the whole of Alicante. High ranking officials and their spouses poured in expecting wine and entertainment, reusing to be denied in any of their requests.

Whenever a party was announced, Alec found a quiet place and was sick behind some bushes.

About a week after the bath incident, when Alec and the other female slaves were cleaning the _caldarium_ after their _dominus _and _domina’s _latest visit, Clary had strode into the room declaring to them all that they were to prepare for a party that evening.

She had laughed at prospect of them having to do more work on top of their already demanding chores before knocking over one of her mother’s expensive pottery pieces and flouncing from the room, no doubt off to find Jace for some pleasure or another.

Alec had simply kept his head down and nodded in acknowledgement, he would do as was asked.

Later, Valentine ordered him to his office a few hours before the party was to begin, a large room of golden ornaments and expensive furniture draped in fine fabrics stolen from around the world. He was stood before a mirror, a tailor walking around him and pinning a new toga on his body as he admired his form, scowling as Alec was admitted in.

“Go to Jonathon, give him my letter!” He’d demanded with a dismissive wave of the hand, eyes never leaving the lay of the toga wrapped around him. Again with a nod Alec left the room and done as commanded, praying to the gods above that he went about this job unscathed.

Instead of hearing his prayers, Alec was forced to relish in the shame of having the gladiators witness the horrifying event, having them holler and shout as he approach, having them shuffle awkwardly as Jonathon staked a claim in front of them all.

But perhaps, worse of all, he’d looked into those enchanting golden eyes, those eyes he’d dreamt of every night since the punishment and seen within their depths a profound hatred as they gazed upon his skin, a disgust as his lips were locked with Jonathon’s.

Why did that man hate his so much? What had Alec done to wrong him so?

The moment he’d arrived back into the villa, Alec had been taken to the slave baths and stripped of his normal subligaria by the other slaves he hesitated to call his friends. They’d worked on painting his marble skin with silver paint, lining his body with patterns and designs like smoke drifting in the air, or the voices of gods upon high. Jocelyn envied his paleness but placed it on display whenever guests came to visit; he was their sign of wealth.

They’d sat his bare body down on a wooden chair in one of the back rooms and painted his eyes with dark kohl and his cheeks with fine pink powder to highlight his cheekbones. Furiously, they’d rubbed oil on his lips, making them shiny and smooth in the firelight of the night.

They were angry not to be chosen to serve at this party; Alec was glad they were not; he would hate to see one of them in his position even if they did not realise it.

Once his body was done, the slaves had switched out, and those who would also be serving alongside Alec came in their place. It was a horrifyingly small number and Alec knew the party was going to be of an _intimate _kind.

He had become happier that those slaves before were not in his position.

These new slaves, Lydia, Aline, Maia, Andrew, they were his friends and he relaxed his shoulders at their presence. Here he was on equal ground, no one wanted to be where they were.

He had been dressed hastily in a flimsy, easy to tear fabric, that settle tightly upon his hips and bellowed out to his thighs, allowing easy access to those who might require it. Andrew, he had noted, was dressed almost similarly but no paint adorned his body, nor makeup was on his face.

It was a signal of the night’s events and from the sadness swimming in the pools of Andrew’s gaze, they both were aware of how it would end.

The girls had been dressed in fluttering tunics of light blue, with deep necklines and short skirts that exposed most of the leg as well as their arms and necks. Alec had smiled sweetly at them, despite the clear attempt at making the girls sexually appealing to the guests, the colour worked beautifully with their skin tones and made them look like goddess’.

He’d told them as such, in his shy, unassuming, voice and received delighted giggles in return, each baring a compliment of its own.

Together they had stayed in that little backroom for some time, allowing the rest of the slaves to continue with preparations as they awaited Valentine’s call to start welcoming and serving the guests. When the call came Alec had blended into the shadows the best he could and began serving the guests.

Now, Alec was regretting that he hadn’t made some fuss earlier in the week.

He flinched as another Roman waved a hand in his direction for his cup to be refilled before slapping his ass and leaving a groping touch behind as his wife howled with laughter at the sight. The party had been going for only a couple of hours and already Alec felt the desire to kill the lot of them, to take a knife from the table and slit the throat of his _dominus_, declaring himself and his friends _free_.

Andrew nor the other women were faring better, he realised with a sly glance around the room, with Maia’s dress already being slightly ruffled and Andrew’s lip rouge being smudged along his face. Hopefully, Alec thought to himself as an arm wound itself around his waist and tugged him onto a lap, the party wouldn’t last too long and the guests – an incredibly large amount for the small number of servers – would soon return back to their own villas.

He hoped they would choke when they did so.

“You, whore, fill my cup!” A voice called from nearby and Alec dutifully stood from the strangers lap and walked demurely over, silver body pain shining like stars as he did so.

He prayed this would soon be over.

* * *

It was not often that Magnus was called into the villa, it was an even rarer occasion that he was called to Valentine’s chambers.

Only twice had it happened before, the first being when he’d first been purchased by his _dominus_ – he’d been a scrap of a boy only fourteen summers old at the time – and the second being when he became the _Hero of Alicante _and subsequently Valentine’s champion.

Usually his earnings were sent straight to the _ludus _and any messages were passed along via Jonathon.

Instead of any tormenting however, Magnus had been stiffly informed by the man that he was to be washed and presented at his gathering that evening; apparently some of the guests desired strongly to see him without the roar of the crowd or blood of the arena.

Magnus had growled at the prospect of being used as entertainment but said nothing and accepted his role. Ragnor was already in enough trouble without him making it worse.

He now regretted his silence and pondered how much exactly Ragnor meant to him as another housewife strolled over to him and placed her dainty hand upon his chest. She turned to giggle at her friends who stood behind gasping at the _scandalous _behaviour she was displaying whilst her husband was occupied with speaking to another guest.

After his meeting with Valentine, Magnus had been dragged to the bathhouse and stripped down. Eager house slaves washed his skin, giggling and laughing to themselves as he swore and bared his teeth in their direction.

They could flirt all they wanted; he would not rise for any house slave. Especially not if they were the pampered darlings of his _domina_.

They had painted chest with swirling patterns of gold, emphasising the lining of his muscles and highlighting the strength in his legs and arms.

He’d been kept in the little bathhouse for a very long time – long after the party had begun – before a loud announcement from Valentine had premeditated his entrance. The second he walked in, eyes of all the high class of Alicante had fallen on him, roaming his bare chest and herculean thighs and biceps. The eyes of the women, and some men, had fallen to the golden coloured subligaria wrapped tightly around his waist and turned to laugh with their friends at the obvious bulge.

As the women before him turned back around, she lowered her hand down his chest, sharp fingernail drawing a red line down the centre of his torso. “Do you know who I am, slave?” Her voice was silky, as a snake drifting through the grass, but slightly nasally and Magnus scrunched up his face at the sound of it.

She laughed loudly at his silence, “Well?”. Magnus simply shook his head, well aware of the consequence should he open his mouth. “My name is Camille,” she continued, somehow deluding herself into pretending Magnus was listening, “I am the wife of Ralf Scott, I am a very,” she prowled closer, ignoring the scandalised gasps of her equally annoying friends, “rich”, her lips pursed as the came to rest along his, “woman.”

She finished her introduction and moved back, eyes challenging him to respond, demanding her act on her flirtations. “What do you think about that?” She questioned. Magnus kept quiet for fear of what he would say if allowed to speak.

_I think I’d like to tear your throat out along with your husband, I want you to put your hand upon me so that I may rip it from your arm._

She turned to her friends once more, rolling her eyes in annoyance, and moved away, flouncing back in the direction Magnus presumed her husband to be.

With freedom from the witch, Magnus trailed his eyes around the room, looking beyond the small podium he was stood upon to gain more of an understanding of the event he was being forced to endure.

The villa was packed to the brim with people dressed in high quality toga’s of varying colours and designs. Jewellery, no doubt worth so much more than the value that had been placed upon himself, dangled carelessly from unblemished necks and wrists.

Boisterous laughter echoed down the halls alongside loud conversations of inane topics of no meaning and Magnus could pick out the boasting speech of his _dominus _from the crowd. Valentine took pleasure in having his most prized possession on display like a strange creature and was inviting more people to go and gaze upon his figure.

Food was laid out upon large tables, food that looked colourful and brimmed with taste far more satisfying and fulfilling then the gruel giving in the _ludus _below, and his stomach growled in desperation to taste some.

No doubt, any attempt to do so would see him to a swift punishment.

He began to look beyond the party and the guests, golden eyes zeroing in on the few house slaves assigned to help the proceedings. There were far less than Magnus would have used, only a handful for the sheer amount of freemen and women that lay about the room.

He could see a slender girl with pale skin and blonde hair bending over to pour wine into a woman’s glass, whilst behind her roaming eyes gazed upon her form like vultures, tongues licking lips in desire.

In the opposite corner of the room a girl with skin the colour of bronze and eyes of molten gold, was sat in the lap of a large man, his arm wound around her waist as the other fondled her leg. The crowd around them were laughing, ignoring her for the most part and chatting amongst themselves as though she were not even there.

A male, with stout body and blond hair was hand feeding grapes to a woman, her head tilted back and eyes closed in pleasure as she bit into one. He, like the girl from before, was surrounded by women acting as though he did not exist beyond the realm of proving a service apart from a singular woman next to him, whose hand was moving languorously up and down his chest, lingering on his pecs.

It disgusted him, this display of hedonism and greed.

Didn’t _anyone _care that these servers were people, who deserved more than to be gazed upon like meat or caressed without their consent.

And then, Magnus caught sight of the one figure that caused the blood in his body to freeze and a small gasp leave his lips.

_Alexander_, pressed against a pillar with Valentine’s son Jace, forcing his lips against his neck as his hands wandered with determination across his exposed torso and legs.

His body was painted in enchanting waves of silver that glinted in the light, making him appear to all the world like a spectre from the gods in the dying light of the torches. The lines mirrored his own and Magnus spared a thought to wonder at the purpose of such a thing. Lips were slick and oily in wetness, making them look plump and biteable whilst light rouge dusted his cheeks, highlighting the sharpness of the lines on his face.

His eyes, those ensnaring pools of fiery blue, were lined in dark kohl, making them look bigger and doe-like in innocence, yet at the same time sultry and sensual. They called to Magnus, begged him to take what was left bare.

Jace was undulating his hips as his strong body kept Alexander in position against the pillar. He was forcing his pleasure on a blank faced Alexander who did no movement to encourage the boy, he simply stood their and took what was given.

It made him want to be sick, the blankness of the younger boy’s face clearly showing that this was not an anomaly, that he was used to people forcing themselves on him.

Perhaps, Magnus thought as Jace clearly reached his completion and stood apart from Alexander, allowing him to move away and continue with his duties, a house slave was not entirely without its demerits.

* * *

The party had lasted longer than Alec believed it would.

Normally these events lasted for around four hours, however, tonight had stretched for a few more and Alec found himself dead on his feet.

But he knew that his services were still required.

As the last of the normal guests left, Alec and the other house slaves had got to work as Valentine and Jocelyn entertained the remaining, _intimate,_ guests with a grand tour of the villa, complete with Magnus going along as ‘protection’ against the dark.

Alec had tried his best not to think about the gladiator on display this evening, blocking his mind from even treading upon what was going to happen soon.

He had been mostly successful.

Together he and Andrew hung stripes of white cloth around a small, withdrawn alcove on the villa’s main floor as the girls filled jugs of wine and created platters of fruit and cheese to lay upon the small chair-side tables.

The area looked elegant, with chaise lounges of fine fabrics and the white cloths drifting softly in the night-time breeze. It was such a shame, Alec though blankly as the small group of freemen and women returned with bright smiles and eager eyes, that such a beautiful space would be so desecrated.

He recognised his _dominus _and _domina, _of course, as well as Camille and Ralf who were close friends of his masters, but the other couple was a mystery to him, perhaps a high ranking official Valentine desired to have in his pocket.

Alec stood stock still with his small group as Jocelyn turned to Camille, smile gay and sultry in a way that promised desires untold, and outstretch her arm towards his small group. “I believe its your turn to pick” she laughed lightly, moving to rest upon one of the lounges, Valentine settling besides her.

The two other couples moved with them, each taking a lounge each and laying upon it with little care.

Camille turned her dark eyes amongst the group, moving swiftly past him and onto Aline with a little sneer. She pointed, and Alec and his group bowed their head as one, moving to their respected positions; Alec and Aline remaining within the alcove whilst the rest stood outside, patiently waiting command should they be needed.

Unlikely, seeing as serving them was precisely what Aline had been chosen for.

Magnus stood at the edge of the space, seemingly confused and unnerved by the display he had just witnessed and Alec could not forget about him anymore.

The gold painted upon his skin was hypnotic and if they were in any other situation besides this one, he perhaps would deign to gaze lustily upon his person; but that was not to be and after what was about to happen, Alec knew Magnus would never again think of him in a positive way.

Valentine turned towards the new couple with an easy smile, eyes lazy with wine and the lateness of evening. “My dear Victor and Zara, welcome to house of Morgenstern, we treasure your presence here tonight.” His silver tongue whispered words of poison in their ear and the couple nodded in gratitude of the honeyed words.

“As you are aware, the house offers some more _intimate _parties and I would hate for you to have travelled all this way without witnessing one. So please, choose who you will, though as you can see we have Camille’s and Ralf’s preference on display.” The groups eyes moved over to Alec and he ducked his head, eyes falling to his bare feet in shame as his cheeks flamed.

“Look how he blushes!” Camille cooed, stroking the arm of her husband in anticipation. The group laughed and Alec prayed to the gods once again hoping that finally they would listen to him at least once this evening.

If Jace’s attack on him earlier against the pillar was any indication however, the gods most certainly were _not _on his side this evening.

* * *

Magnus was more than confused.

He was already completely astounded by the displays he’d seen tonight but this strange meeting in the alcove was taking things further than Magnus could have imagined.

The small group of freemen and women were gazing intently upon the smaller boy stood beside Jocelyn whose cheeks were flaming red with, what? Shame? Embarrassment? Delight?

All Magnus could really focus on however, was the large bruise adorning his neck from the younger _dominus’ _ministrations earlier in the evening. It was red and bloody, it looked more painful than pleasurable.

The only other house slave with them, a dark-haired beauty who had escaped his earlier observations, was holding a jug of wine patiently, eyes staring straight ahead and blank. She was Ignoring everything happening around her.

Magnus wished he could do the same.

The woman he believed to be called Zara – if Valentine’s earlier introduction was correct – moved to sit upright on her lounge, gaze turning intently upon his own person with thinly veiled desire and lust.

“You” she called, dainty hand pointing towards him, “Gladiator, come to the middle.”

With a brief glance towards Alexander, whose gaze had yet to move from the floor, Magnus stepped into the middle of the alcove, gaze lying above the heads of those surrounding him. “I wish to see him all, may I?” Her voice came from beside him, low and dangerous with intent, fingers touching lightly upon his ribs and trailing the pattern of his muscles.

Jocelyn laughed lightly in amusement and nodded her assent. Magnus began to dread this evening harder than ever in response.

“Remove your subligaria.” The girl demanded, moving back towards her husband and laying down once again, back pressed against his front. Her eyes, like those of her companions were dark and fully blown.

With shaking hands Magnus moved slowly towards the wrappings around him, breathing deeply and gulping away his disgust. Inch by inch the fabric came away from him until Magnus was stood completely bare to the room, his gaze unwavering as he blinked away tears.

This was more shameful than any fighting he’d been forced to endure in the arena.

The women were laughing, gasping at the sight of his manhood, whilst the men just whistled at his size, discussing amongst themselves who closest compared.

“Is this all you desire?” Valentine requested, eyes moving towards the new couple in their group. This time Victor leaned forward, analysing Magnus’ body with unbridled lust.

“I would desire, _Valentine, _a feast of the eyes. I do not disagree with Camille’s usual choice,” Magnus watched as Victor’s hand rose to point in the direction of Alexander and horror filled his heart as he realised where the events of the evening were leading to.

“Have him fuck this one!”

* * *

Of course, Alec thought as tears drew unbidden to his eyes.

Of course, once again he’d have to lay down any self-respect and bow to his superiors to provide entertainment.

The gods had truly abandoned him this night, he knew now, as Magnus glanced up at him in shock, eyes betraying the pure disbelief and horror at the idea. Did Magnus truly not know what was expected of him this night?

Could he not guess from the way they had been presented, the silver on his chest merging perfectly with the golden on Magnus?

He moved with practiced step to join Magnus in the middle of the alcove, fur rug beneath his feet providing little comfort to him in this moment.

He blinked away his tears, placing a mask of indifference on his face as he turned his head up to gaze into Magnus’ horror struck eyes, smiling slightly in reassurance to the gladiator. It would provide little comfort, but Magnus had never done this before and a friendly smile could go a long way.

It was, after all, all Alec had hoped for the first time.

Magnus stepped wearily closer to him, hands laying flat at his side in confusion and uncertainty and eyes begging for information. He wore a deep frown of disgust and was attempting to signal something with the raise of his eyebrows.

But Alec did not know what.

They stood completely still, facing each other, golden eyes filled with expression whilst blue was like ice and held everything back.

Beside him, Victor began feeding Zara some grapes, licking away the juices that dripped down her face whilst the other members of the room waited with bated breath for something to happen.

Alec watched as Zara frowned at their hesitance and turned to her husband with a deep scowl of unease. Victor snapped his gaze to Magnus, eyes blazing with authority and lust. “Remove his subligaria.”

Alec closed his eyes briefly before raising his eyes once more onto Magnus’, attempting to communicate his acceptance of the situation and urge him to do as he was ordered. The taller male moved closer hesitantly, breaths quickening and eyes widening as he approached.

Gently, and much to Alec’s appreciation, Magnus outstretched his hands and began the process of removing his subligaria, eyes never moving from Alec’s own.

He allowed a small smile to pass his lips, reassuring the older man that everything was okay no matter what the scenario suggested otherwise.

* * *

Magnus was close to ignoring his orders and causing a riot. The look on Alexander’s face, the resignation and acceptance, the tears lining his eyes like a barrier, the small smile of reassurance hit his heart like a sword.

He had been so wrong in his belief the house slaves suffered nothing, that they lived sheltered lives. This was their reality, this humiliation and disregard of humanity.

The resignation on Alexander’s face and the attempted blankness in his eyes only proved to him that this was a regular occurrence, that Alexander had faced situations like this many times before. Was this what the house slaves suffered?

Whilst in the arena or taking his punishment, Magnus could still retain his pride, retain his freedom of choice. Every act of sexual pleasure he engaged in was consensual and chosen at a time both parties desired.

Had Alexander ever had that choice? Had he ever been allowed his pride or felt the hold of a lover who cherished him?

The thoughts made tears come to his eyes.

He understood now why Alexander had been painted in beautiful lines of silver and himself in gold. They would move together in a fluid array of colour that, in the ethereal glow of the light, would turn them into something a thousand times more pleasing to their crowd’s eyes.

Finally, the subligaria was fully removed and Alexander stood as bare as him. He did not move for a moment, stunned by the earth-shatteringly beautiful image the smaller boy made before him, and his heart skipped a beat as his blue eyes looked deep into his own.

He fell headfirst into love. And it was _glorious._

“Well?” Came Camille’s demanding voice and Magnus watched as with practiced movement Alexander sunk to the floor and lay expectantly upon his back, legs spread and eyes staring straight up.

He was expecting no comfort, no love in this act.

He was expecting harshness and rough handling.

Magnus kneeled between his open legs, arms holding himself above the smaller boy with a helpless look in his eye.

Alexander finally looked him in the eye and Magnus had to stifle his cry of distress at the sight of a solitary tear falling down the side of his face, his blue eyes filling with a hopeless sadness that Magnus could not take away.

“Alexander I –“ He began to whisper, low enough to avoid the detection of their audience.

“Please Magnus,” Came an equally quiet yet more reserved voice, “See it done. Please?”

Magnus simply nodded and his hand began the descent of the paler boy’s body, however he refused to allow his eyes to leave Alexander’s, hoping to whatever gods the younger boy believed in that it would provide some comfort.

* * *

They were well into fucking when Alec came into awareness of himself once more. Magnus was thrusting deep and fast into his pliant body, grunts of reluctant pleasure escaping his throat and entering the quiet alcove around them.

They had had no oil to guide the way so Magnus had done his best to ease the way with excessive spit and initially slow movements.

Alec was glad, he appreciated this care more than he could ever hope to express to the gladiator.

He looked into the golden eyes of the man above him, surprised at the care and sadness he found within their depths. It made for a nice replacement on the usual excitement and maliciousness he usually found on the people who had come before him.

Magnus was directly hitting the bundle of nerves deep within him repeatedly and Alec couldn’t help the genuinely pleasurable moans and mewls that left his mouth. Never before had a lover reached that space within him, made his body alight with pleasure and desire.

He was so close to completion; it was a sensation he had never yet experienced.

No longer could he keep his hands sedately in the rug beneath him and Alec gripped tightly at the skin of Magnus’ back as his legs wrapped tightly around his waist, urging Magnus deeper and faster with his thrusts.

His nails turned to claws and dragged down Magnus back as his blood boiled and his nerves sang to the heavens.

He was babbling now, nonsense words in his mother tongue that rolled out his mouth and into Magnus’ ears. No longer could he sense the people around them, watching them. He couldn’t hear their own moans of pleasure or comments on his and Magnus’ performances.

All he could focus on was the crippling pleasure building within and the weight of Magnus on top of him.

Suddenly Alec could no longer maintain eye contact with Magnus, he threw his head back and _screamed _as his release flew from his untouched member and up his chest, painting his chest a slippery white.

He panted with overstimulation as Magnus continued to pound within him, drawing out the final strings of his own orgasm. Hot liquid filled his insides as Magnus reached his height and Alec raised his hips in welcome of the intrusion, grappling with Magnus’ back to pull him into a tight embrace, tears falling like waterfalls down his cheeks and along his neck.

Together they froze their movements, panting with excursion and exhaustion. Magnus remained lying atop him for some time, before finally slipping free and moving to lay besides him.

Neither one moved for a moment, caught up in the feelings and passion that had passed between them before finally Magnus moved to stand, holding out his hand for Alec to take.

With his eyes drawn to the floor Alec stood and began redressing himself, content to listen the fading sound of their audience walk away and the other house slaves cleaning away the mess of the evening.

Because of his performance tonight, Alec would be allowed to go to bed early.

Magnus kept his smaller hand encased within his own and gestured for Alec to take the lead. He tilted his head in confusion at the movement, unsure as to why Magnus was bothering with him at all.

Surely Magnus could see he was no better than a whore?

Even so, Alec was too tired to argue and began the torturous walk back to his room within the villa, wincing slightly with every step. Behind him a tut sounded and suddenly Alec found himself lifted from the ground in a bridle carry and Magnus striding down the corridors.

“Tell me where to go _sayang_.”

* * *

Magnus felt disgusted with himself and the masters of the house.

Never before in his life had he forced himself on another as he had with Alexander and he was even more disgusted with the fact that he had enjoyed it.

Alexander had made expressively beautiful faces within the throes of passion, blue eyes clouded and cheeks red with heat, lips parted slightly with pink tongue poking teasingly in the opening.

Magnus was wrong before, Alexander’s lips were not like bee-stings, but rather tulip petals, delicate and desirable all in one. Never had he wanted to kiss another person as Alexander tonight, and the way the gold paint had transferred onto the smaller man’s chest and mixed together with the silver had driven him wild with desire.

His face when the orgasm overtook him was explosive, his mouth parted in a scream and eyes scrunched closed. It hadn’t taken him long afterwards to finish and Magnus had felt like pure shit for doing what he had just done.

How dare he take pleasure in an act so deplorable?

The was Alexander had turned from him in shame to get dressed would haunt his memories for longer than he cared to admit.

Seeing the boy attempt to walk back to his rooms with a harsh limp and whimpers had nearly caused him to break into tears once more, and it was the least he could do to provide some aid and take him back quicker and safer.

He placed the boy at the entrance to his room and gazed down at his smaller frame with hesitation, unsure as to what would happen now.

“I’m sorry-

“Thank you-“

The began at the same time and Magnus’ voice stuttered to a stop alongside Alexander’s. “Please,” he began again, “speak your mind.”

Alexander gazed up at him, blue eyes wide in surprise before he ducked his head once again and stared at the floor. “Thank you.” His voice was soft yet deep, like honeyed wine or silk. It was pleasurable to listen to and carried a daintiness he did not expect.

“For what?” He had to ask; mind clouded with confusion. What had he done tonight that deserved such praise?

“For being gentle with me, for trying to make it pleasurable.” Alexander continued hesitantly, voice trailing off with uncertainty.

Magnus started at the admission; eyes wide with disbelief at the show of gratitude for basic decency. “You need not thank me little one, I only did what I thought was best. I-I did not want to cause you further harm. Do not think I wanted to force myself on you tonight.”

Alec simply smiled up at Magnus, blue eyes clear for the first time since Magnus had gazed upon them. His smile was perfect, wide and honest with dimples at either side and Magnus couldn’t take his eyes away.

“I know you did not, do not think otherwise. Tonight was something that was forced upon us both, I am only sorry that you had to witness such acts and that you had to do them with so undesirable a partner.”

Magnus gasped in pure shock at the admission. How Alexander could ever believe himself to be an undesirable partner was beyond Magnus’ realm of understanding. “Darling Alexander you are far from undesira-“

A finger at his lips stopped his words and Magnus looked down into the delighted yet conflicted eyes of Alexander – whom Magnus was too quickly falling in love with to be natural. “Say nothing please, do not spoil what you gave me this night.”

Before Magnus could say more, Alexander stood onto the tips of his toes and pressed a light, hesitant kiss upon his lips before drawing away.

“Goodnight Magnus.” He whispered dreamily before shuffling into the room behind them and closing the door.

The taller man stood there for a few minutes in shock. His cheeks burned with delight as a finger rose to touch the very lips Alexander’s had touched and he drew the space around them in glee.

A kiss.

From Alexander.

Magnus’ smile widened and he charged down the corridors back to the _ludus_, mind filled with happiness that whisked away the horror of this evening.

Alexander had kissed him!

Magnus stopped in his tracks halfway down the steps of the _ludus_. He needed to see Alexander again, needed to court him and win his affections properly this time.

If they ever got a chance to be intimate again, Magnus wanted it to be of their choosing, he wanted Alexander to feel safe and loved around him.

He wanted Alexander to experience love in all its splendour and be allowed to feel the warmth and affection of a true lover and not one forced upon him.

Magnus would do this for Alexander; even if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so i severely underestimated how many chapters I needed so I've bumped this up to three instead of two but it should be completed soon! Speaking of writing, I hope to have the next chapter in Of Kings and Queens up tomorrow so look out for that!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter and please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and any suggestions for the final chapter.


	3. Memories on a moon's silver ray

The morning after the party, before the training regime began and all was in relative peace, Magnus’ friends clamoured around him, eager and excited to know what had taken him from their presence and kept him from them until late into the night. Catarina, her dark skin reflecting in the early morning rays like honey, had her eyes wide open in readiness, eager to hear of the grandeur of life upstairs, far removed from her bloody and dirty medical room in the ludus.

“Why were you there?” Ragnor asked, voice low and hoarse from his slowly remerging strength, “Jonathon didn’t say.”

Magnus lowered his head towards them, turning away from the curious onlookers surrounding them who were prepared to use any information they could to remove Magnus from his position as Valentine’s prized fighter. “There was a party,” he began slowly, “to celebrate Valentine’s win or new friends or,” the Indonesian paused, trying to remember what had been said at the event, “or something, it doesn’t really matter.” Magnus shook his head, and Raphael pitched forward, hand coming to rest upon the taller male’s arm in support.

“I was scrubbed clean and given a new loincloth by the houseslaves,” Catarina scrunched her nose at the mention of houseslaves, disgust lining her feature as she thought of their pristine skin and clean living quatres in comparison to the shit she was forced to reside in, “but then they painted me in ribbons of gold, they painted a line below each muscle to, I don’t know, make it bigger, more obvious?”

Ragnor snorted and smirked at Magnus, raising an eyebrow in disbelief, “you’re telling me that whilst we all worried for your safety, you were off getting pampered by some houseslaves to attend some fancy party. I can see why you might not enjoy that but I’m pretty sure those houseslaves were overjoyed at the prospect.” Magnus went to open his mouth, to inform his friends that their ideas from before were wrong, that the slaves indoors suffered a different kind of hell all together, but Raphael beat him and spoke loudly to the group,

“I bet they enjoyed washing down our gladiator, and that party is definitely a chance for them to show off their lovely assets, isn’t that right Magnus?”

The elder frowned and his eyes, so sharp and clear usually, were vacant and cloudy as they recalled the events of last night. “We’re wrong.” He whispered, voice mumbling and low with shame, “those houseslaves, my gods, the things Valentine has them doing.” His voice rose, become louder and higher as his distress mounted. Magnus clenched his hands tightly under their table, skin turning white as he recalled the vacancy, the resignation in Alexander’s expression throughout the evening; the small smile he had found the strength to give Magnus before the worst part of the evening began.

“Magnus?” Catarina’s timid voice broke through his thoughts and the Indonesian jerked backwards as her hand lay upon his shoulder in support. “What do you mean?”

“Those bastards up there, those _civilised _people we call _dominus _and _domina, _they had me on display, for their guests to enjoy and discuss, but the houseslaves…” he trailed off as his voice caught in his throat, the gates of tortured screams keeping it from coming out. “They were just games for his guests, he lets them touch them, fuck them, do whatever the fuck they want with them and no one cares. I saw a man rip one of the girls dresses just to grab her arse and his wife just sat by and laughed.”

Magnus knows his teeth are clattered together in a vice grip, each word escaping his mouth as if being pulled by the gods themselves. His friends are, for once, silent as they take in the information; he can see it in their eyes, the way each one is revaluating what they’ve witnessed. The simple command spoken with soft words and a kind smile, nothing more than an order commanded with a lecherous grin and roaming hands.

The gentle grip of a hand when pottery is dropped and the slave brought to their own medical bay, a dominating hand marching a body to punishment.

Behand them the cracking of a whip cuts the conversation short and all heads turn to watch as Jonathon’s dead eyes track their movement before a winning grin emerges on his face. “Five minutes.” His voice, like iron, commands and the gladiators hasten to finish their meals to start training.

“Did anyone touch you?” Raphael’s concerned voice draws the groups attention once more and Magnus swallows the lump building like a cavern in his throat. “Not so much,” he replies, reaching for the nearby water pewter to clear away the frog.

“At the end of the night,” Magnus finds himself lowering his voice further, guilt scaring away the volume more than Jonathon’s whip ever could, “when most guests had gone, the others made this kind of space in the main area whilst I was forced to follow a more intimate group round. When we got back they, they made me…”

Magnus finds he can’t finish the sentence, tears drawing to his eyes as the haze of love and horror that seeped into his brain through the night vanishes under Sol’s burning gaze. “Magnus?” Ragnor’s voice was quiet but laced with despair and concern, his expression mirrored onto the other’s around him.

“They made me rape Alexander, the blue eyed houseslave who delivered my note, made me rape him for their entertainment. My gods, how can he ever forgive me!” He resolutely ignored the horrified gasps and mummers of his friends, more than aware that if he stopped now, the story would never get finished. “He thanked me Ragnor, thanked me for being gentle and taking my time! What monster’s has he faced to be surprised at such curtesy, what had Valentine forced him to do?”

His friends said nothing in return but their eyes shone with sadness that could never be expressed with words. Later, once the day was finished and Jonathon’s unholy whip was gone from there backs, Magnus would tell them of his affection for the blue eyed boy, the way he smiled to try and provide the elder with some support and strength, the way he kissed his lips in a light peck and blushed adorably so, the way his voice sounded in the hallway of his bedroom when they were surrounded by nought but shadows.

Magnus knew he was impossibly infatuated with the boy, probably far too quickly to be anything other than the gods bringing them together, but he couldn’t help the way his heart beat a little faster as his thoughts turned to that dimpled smile, or the way the very blood in his veins became energised at the thought of seeing him again.

“Fucking move it!” Jonathon’s voice sounded in tandem with his whip, and Magnus rushed to the sands of the ludus once more, thinking nothing of seeing his blue eyed beauty again.

* * *

Alec stood silently behind Valentine’s chair as he conducted a meeting with multiple high ranking citizens. His arms were aching from where he was forced to hold the two jugs of wine aloft and his eyes burned the wall before him to avoid seeing the lustful gazes sent towards his form.

It had been a week since the party and Valentine was finally reaping the rewards as more wealthy patrons came forward desiring to put money into his gladiatorial empire; meanwhile the bruises on his hips from Magnus’ golden hands gripping his had only just faded. It had been a sad moment of realisation for him when he’d awoken, to see the marks placed upon him had faded away. He knew that Magnus had left them only due to passion not pain, and the sense of happiness that arose within him at the reminder that the elder hadn’t wanted to hurt him caused him to smile constantly.

The attraction Alec knew he felt for the Asian, the desire that flooded in his system and made him sigh like a maiden, should have fled the moment a hand was laid upon him, but Magnus’ tender gaze and horrified expression at the thought of hurting him, his attempt at an apology was endearing and Alec knew he had long since fallen for the man.

But the wistfulness at imagining the taller gladiator putting more willing marks upon his body was overshadowed by the realisation that Valentine was more than aware of the lack of bruises and so his body was once again open and ready for his, or anyone else’s, use. Just as Magnus was said to be Valentine’s champion, Alec was his _dominus’ _head of house and _domina’s _body slave; prized beyond all measure and used near exclusively with guests.

No other would serve them as Alec would, Valentine had made that immediately aware once he’d turned thirteen, and gazes began becoming more appreciative and lustful. The only reason he was in this meeting, holding wine jugs in such a way to showcase his arms, wearing a loincloth that was near transparent in colour was because of the benefit he could bring the noble and esteemed house of Morgenstern.

Alec hated that the tactic was working. Hated that he could feel the caresses each man was performing in their minds, could envision the way they planned to move him like a ragdoll into a position of their choosing, push into him with ignorance to his muted grunts of pain or silent tears. He tried to keep his mind blank, tried to think of nothing but the chipped paint opposite him, or the sounds of marbles coming from the guards stationed in the room next to them.

From past experiences, Alec knew the meeting had a few more hours to go before he was truly needed beyond the realm of refilling drinks or being the victim of a wandering grope, and his mind failed him immediately as he began thinking back to the broad shoulders and muscular chest of the golden eyed gladiator who had captured his thoughts and his heart; taking him far away from the situation he was forced to be in.

Last night, once the other slaves had returned to their chambers and Andrew had come to rest in the bed next to him, the two had spoke for hours in the dying flickering of the candle between them. Quietly, with only the moon’s rays as witness, the two spoke freely about the events of tonight, reaching out in the darkness to join hands in solidarity when moments became to hard to discuss or the tears blurred their eyes. At one point, as Andrew was recalling a partygoer reaching into his loincloth as the group around him jeered and laughed, Alec moved across and the two cuddled together in desperation.

“There was one guest,” Andrew had whispered in the breaths between them, clutching tight at Alec’s own hands in eagerness. “he stood up for me and made the man stop touching me Alec! Then he kept making excuses for me not to leave his side for the rest of the night until he left, oh Allie, is it so bad that I’m a little enamoured?”

With a small chuckle Alec had shaken his head and wiped away the residual tears lingering on his friends cheek. “We must take kindness where we find it in this life Andy, if he showed you some respect and decency where we receive none, I cannot blame you for your feelings.” The two proceeded to giggle like the children they never were and huddle closer together at the sound of footsteps passing by their door.

“How was…” Andrew’s had voice trailed off, the suffocating silence around them more than making up for the question he refused to ask. Alec stayed silent for a moment, needing time to collect his thoughts, before peering pensively into the eyes of his closest friend. “Andy, I want to say it was bad, I mean it was, I hate being humiliated, so thoroughly abused for the enjoyment of others, but Magnus…”

His eyes twinkled in the moonlight, a shy blush appeared on his face as Andrew has elbowed him in the ribs, knowing that sometimes the slightly older boy could become lost in his memories. “Magnus, he was so gentle, so _upset _at what he had to do that he refused to hurt me, to take pleasure in violating me. My gods Andrew, he took his time to prepare me, smiled at me and gave me time to adjust, it was more than I could ever have hoped for.” The younger boy had smiled, never before seeing such light or happiness in his friends eyes or countenance and bundled closer in reassurance.”

“What happened when you left us?” he asked, voice giddy and childlike in wonder. He had seen his friend escorted out of the area by the gladiator but the need to complete his tasks for the evening took precedence and he’d been forced to turn from them before seeing anything more.

“He carried me to the door Andrew!” Alec’s voice had burst out, “actually carried me when he saw that I was limping. He even tried to apologise to me! When has a gladiator ever deigned to speak to us, let alone apologise for their actions. He was so sweet Andy, so attentive and caring.” The smaller boy’s smile held the warmth of a home when he looked at Alec and the two molded into each other as the exhaustion of the day truly caught up with them.

“I think I love him Andy.” Came the whisper.

“That’s okay.” Came the offered reply before the two slaves surrendered themselves to the moon’s eternal rays, both content in the knowledge that, for once in their lives, happiness, however fleeting, had found them and given them a night to relish and relax before the sun’s burning rays destroyed the fantasy they had built around themselves.

Slaves could never truly be happy.

With a loud snap Alec broke from his thoughts and saw, with mounted dread, as Valentine smiled lecherously at his guests before gesturing towards his position with a nod and leaving the room. He took a shaky breath and gently placed the wine jugs on a nearby stand, grateful for the second in which he could relax them by his sides, before a sharp whistle brought his attention back to the four men now surrounding him, each ogling at his body with glazed and hungry eyes. 

“Come on then angel,” one of them spoke as his hand grabbed harshly at his hair, “Give us what that prick promised us.”

Alec simply smiled blankly and did as commanded; it was all he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed the chapter number has once again risen because I am truly awful at chapter content management. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and any thing you want to see in the future - either in this story on in general.


	4. Stolen moments

For three weeks, Magnus jumped at every step that clattered on the cobbled stairs, every whistle cried from Jonathon’s lips, and every shadow that crossed his path; each time praying to the gods above that the blue eyed angel from above had once again come to grace his presence. The haunting presence of his infatuation followed him everywhere, and Magnus was but a mortal man following traces of his siren round every corner and every sound.

His Alexander had not enlightened his vision since that horrifying evening three weeks past besides from a few fleeting moments when the _dominus _appeared on the balcony and spoke to them all, but even then Magnus had to risk making a spectacle of himself standing up on his toes and being noticed by Jonathon.

But his love’s head was always down, blue eyes always hidden.

Alexander appeared more fearful of his place, more unsure of his stance as Magnus gazed, lovestruck at his figure. The void stance and gaze which Magnus had once so hated before, would have been a more welcome sight than the defeated slump of his darling’s shoulders and saddened gaze which encompassed the entire world’s sorrow within them. It broke the elder’s heart to see his disposition so rapidly changed from their illicit evening.

Part of him hoped the love he bared for Alexander, was instead seen as obsession and a curse by the other.

Magnus was near chomping at the bit for the chance to see his smooth ivory skin close to his own golden tone once again, to speak to him and hear those smooth foreign tones rumble quietly from his throat, a subtle accent passed down by family not location. The way his darling rolled his r’s as if sweetening the honey upon which they feasted or how sometimes the end of his words would tilt higher in pitch, as if the angels themselves were floating in his ears and blessing them. Nothing had excited him more than when his Alexander had spoken his name and his tongue had curled around the ‘u’ and lowered it to a delightful sound.

How could he have fallen so fast?

Ragnor pulled him swiftly from his daydream as he huddled him further into the corner of their table as Raphael and Catarina sat opposing them, heads bowed low and eyes shifting rapidly. “Wha-“

“Hush Magnus” Catarina bit out, eyes turning dangerous as they gazed upon the back of Jonathon who, in turn, was watching the new recruits with beady eyes and hands flexing where they settled on his whip. Ever since the festivities the man had been harsher, more animalistic in his torment; every misstep was a lashing, every extra breath was a beating. Something had shifted in his mind after the party – Magnus hadn’t even seen him attend – unleashing within him a horrid need to punish others and revel in their pain.

Catarina leaned in closer, her torso nearly flat against the splintered table beneath them as she lowered her voice further into a breathless whisper; one so quiet that Magnus strained to hear it. “I finished talking to Agron and Thaddeus this morning whilst they were in my medic bay. They’re on board for _rebellionis _tonight.”

The three gladiators around her nodded, happy with the knowledge that not a single member of the house of Morgenstern would betray them this evening. For some time the words of rebellion, of fighting against their _dominus, _had swirled around the halls of the _ludus _like a ghost or soft spoken wind but had never come to fruition; whilst many of the gladiators did not like the house slaves they did not wish to see them all killed if their attempt failed.

But in hushed whispers over the dying candle light which illuminated the walls Magnus had told his fellow gladiators the horror’s those in the house above faced and the humiliation he was forced to go through in the name of entertainment. He had watched as their minds connected the meek, shy nature of the house slaves with the lecherous, boisterous behaviour of the rich who visited, witnessed as the realisation entered into their eyes and lit like a fire.

There were a few gladiators, such as Jorden and Raphael, whose beaus were in the house above, and the knowledge of what they silently went through, were _forced _to do without telling anyone enraged them to a fury unknown and they, along with all the rest, had the final incentive to move, to take action.

It had taken some time; they couldn’t speak in the daytime with Jonathon’s beady eyes and the endless cartful of gladiators being moved to and from the arena, and regular patrols of the corridors in the night time left very few moments to speak properly. Catarina had to work her magic individually, waiting for each gladiator to come to her medic room before speaking to them in hushed whispers, taking the precious time they had for care to request their involvement and secure their aid in the rebellion.

Ever since the party, slowly but surely the small band of gladiators had increased until every single member was ready and prepared to risk their life for one more moment of true freedom.

To live out of the shadow of their _dominus _and the _ludus _once more.

“Good, now we just need to wait until the next party Valentine holds and **strike**. Those fools in their high castle won’t know what hit them.” Magnus’ laugh was low and slow, reaching deep into the hearts of his companions and striking them profoundly.

A loud thud from the courtyard broke their intimacy and the group turned to witness the new recruits throwing down their equipment in exhaustion and forcing their limbs towards the food laid out for them, Jonathon’s beady eyes following them round like a feral dog hunting its next meal. His mouth, scarred by the hatred imbued within him, frowned when his hand reached out to grab the jug besides him and found it empty and Jonathon’s hunting gaze snatched away from the young group to the empty content of the jug.

Magnus watched as he heaved a sigh which shook the very bones of shoulders before snapping his head up and latching his cold eyes onto the Indonesians own. A cruel smirk latched onto his face as the older man stood up straight and marched with his head held high and gaze unwavering towards where Magnus and his companions sat.

The eyes of the other gladiators watched the approach as all conversation around them dissolved and silenced in order to hear what words would spew like dirt from the blonde’s mouth. Slamming the jug down on the table, Jonathon leaned in close to the younger male, bloodthirsty eyes shining at the mere idea of bossing another around as he pleased.

Whilst pain was his favourite thing, everyone knew of the pleasure Jonathon took from merely exerting what power he held over them all.

“_Servus_, it seems I’m out of wine.” His smirk stretched into a goading smile, eyes widening with madness as he spat on Magnus’ cheek with holy indignance, “fetch me more, won’t you _canis_.” Besides him, Ragnor choked on his breath and Catarina grabbed his arm in a reassuring grip, pressing down and holding tight as hand clawed its way into an aggravated fist.

He knew what Jonathon wanted from him, knew what he desired, but the approaching rebellion forced its way into his mind and Magnus huffed out a breath and relaxed his posture. With a wide smile and pleasant eyes Magnus reached out and took the handle of the jug with a light grip, surprising the blonde who startled back at the contradicting image before him.

The Indonesian stood, golden skin reflecting in the early morning rays, and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of Jonathon’s position in power, as he had been taught long ago by a distant memory of his mother. “Of course, _Dominus_.” His voice was honey sweet, but his tongue was laced with poison as Magnus quickly bypassed the blonde and headed towards the entrance to the _ludus’ _inner chambers, where the storage cupboard was.

Jonathon stepped backwards in surprise of the cordial tone, eyes widening with disbelief as he let Magnus pass without further comment or action, his silence bewildered and confused. The other gladiators watched the interaction cautiously, afraid for the punishment such callous and unusually behaviour might warrant on their champion but all were pleasantly shocked by Jonathon simply stepping aside and allowing the younger gladiator to pass unscathed.

The blonde swallowed loudly in the silent practice arena of the _ludus_, momentarily struck by the vision of humility before him before loudly cracking his whip and bellowing his lungs to force the other gladiators to move and begin practice once again.

Once inside the labyrinth hallways of the _ludus _Magnus breathed out a sigh of release, taking a moment to lean against the wall and calm the wildness beating within his chest. Jonathon was a monster on a normal basis when dealing with the gladiators in a way which he knew what to expect from them; Magnus was fully prepared for the blond creature to drag him into the middle of the practice area and beat him black and blue for not providing him with the justification he wanted so badly.

When the blood in his veins returned to a normal pace and his breathing evened out, Magnus began to slowly walk the hallways to where the storage room was. It took him a while due to his meandering steps but eventually Magnus spied the gate that separated the gladiators from the storage room and the stairs which lead to the main area of the villa.

Usually the gate was guarded by paid mercenaries and locked to prevent either the gladiators from getting upstairs, or the house slaves moving into the lower regions of the villa and mixing with the ‘less savoury’ types who may besmirch their honour and dirty them enough to prevent use in the villa. But Magnus had heard through the grapevine – that was to say, he heard it from Catarina, who usually stayed in a small box room in the villa on a night time – that in the wake of presiding over another party, Valentine had grown lax with the smaller details and as such the mercenaries hadn’t been paid properly and as a result had moved on to better prospects.

It was easy enough for Magnus to assume that the gate being left open was due to the carelessness of a house slave who had been sent to breach the barrier between their two lives and merely forgotten to lock it on there way back up.

With cautious steps, Magnus opened the gate and wandered into the storage room, looking for the are which held the wine jugs he needed. He closed the gate behind him, using the noise it would make when opened to indicate if Jonathon came after him.

He paced further into the room, beyond walls of jugs and boxes holding precious resources, and continued turning down each narrow walkway which appeared promising. The room was far bigger than he was expecting, more like an entire floor of the villa rather than a singular space where the _domina _housed her resources and eventually the monotonous reddish brown objects around him blurred into one unidentifiable labyrinth. Magnus stood confused at the room around him, unused to being within its walls or fetching anything from it; Jonathon usually went himself or found a house slave wandering nearby to do it for him, the gladiators never left his sight if he could help it.

Surrounding him on all sides, the large jugs seemed identical and Magnus hesitated to move towards a certain direction in case he caused an accident and tipped over the wrong thing.

He stepped forward, then back before turning in the other direction and hesitantly stepping forward once again, becoming lost in the maze of brown pottery, food and resources that surrounded him. How did the house slaves navigate this room so easily? He had seen them move in and out within moments, leaving with their desired object without breaking a stride upon entering.

His throat formed the sound of confusion and his eyes screwed tight together as he thought about how to go about finding the wine, internally cursing Valentine’s need to have the biggest and best villa in all of Idris and stocking the room with seemingly every available item a household could ever long for.

From behind him rose a slight giggle, quiet but performed like a lark’s song.

Magnus spun round in a panic, eyes searching the room around him for the owner of the sound but found nothing but air. He waited a moment before he shook his head, golden eyes closing as he brushed the noise aside, forcing himself to believe it was nought but his imagination playing tricks on him, or perhaps a reverberating sound from the villa above.

Until the sound arose from behind him once again.

Swiftly Magnus used his training to turn with the utmost speed, grasping onto the wall behind him to steady his feet. Golden eyes shifted through the dark space rapidly, looking for some kind of movement, something he could identify as either a threat or a friend. The _ludus _was no place to misjudge who stood beside you; the gladiators may have been a brotherhood, but Magnus knew more than one who had sacrificed that relationship to get ahead.

A whisper tingled against the skin of his ear, as a voice warm as a welcome mat spoke to him in a soft, melodic voice of lifting pitch, “need help, _deliciae?”_

Magnus turned once again, happiness opening up his face as his eyes caught onto the enchanting blues that had enthralled his dreams for the past three weeks. They were clear and bright, more open and honest than he had seen them for some time, and Magnus’ heart fluttered at seeing the life returned to them in a way that had long since been missing.

“Alexander!” He choked out, wrapping his arms around the smaller body and raising him higher in the air, glee pouring out of every part of his body. The younger man let out a breathless laugh, the air leaving him in a sudden spin as Magnus twirled him around the room before placing him delicately back onto his feet and leaning him back onto the wall, his larger body hovering slightly over his companions.

His hand, so rough and tan in contrast to the house slave’s alabaster skin, cupped Alexander’s face reverently as he gently ran his thumb against the soft curve of his cheek. Inside of his chest, Magnus could feel his chest stuttering out a heavy rhythm, fast and unrelenting as his blue eyed angel smiled gayly at him, soft dimples forming on his face.

Magnus scrunched his face as he looked down at his love, the boy who had, within a few short illicit moments stolen amongst a night of vile, putrid acts indescribable to man, stolen his heart and kept it embedded in his sapphire eyes. His smile turned slightly, as he breathed out deeply and his thumb stopped its gentle caressing. “Alexander…” he trailed, unsure how to speak of the feelings in his heart, or the strength of the beating in his chest.

Did Alexander even feel the same?

A delicate hand placed itself atop Magnus’ own, and Alexander’s wide smile turned warm and comforting as he, in turn, used his thumb to caress the tough skin of the man opposite him. “Magnus,” he began, voice soft, and vowels deep as his tongue curled around their sounds and changed them to his own, “my heart beats in my chest only for you. My very strength comes from the love I feel radiate from you.”

Magnus feels his breath catch in his throat at the pure love and adoration pouring from the smaller male in his arms, he can do no more than draw his body closer, wrapping his arms tightly around the lithe body and pressing a kiss to the net of curls sitting atop his head. “But, _sayang –“_

“But nothing!” the little wolf in his arms growled out, “I don’t care that we spoke only for a few moments, or that the majority of our time together so far has been spend with me on my back.” The harsh reminder of their forced act has Magnus flinching violently, arms tightening around the pliant body in his arms as his eyes automatically move towards the direction of the doorway, lips pulled back into a snarl and eyes black.

His love draws his face down, and Magnus rests his forehead against Alexander’s own and breaths deeply, taking comfort in the weight in his arms and the warmth beneath his fingertips. “Don’t you find it strange, the strength of our feelings. My Gods Alexander, we scarcely spoke more than ten words to each other and I fell in love with you as if I were picking up a sword or greeting a friend; Instinctly and with warmth in my heart.”

Alexander blushed deeply and looked at Magnus under his eyelashes, a shy smile lighting up his face. In an uncharacteristic display of boldness the elder would never have expected from the house slave, Alexander stretched onto the tips of his toes and pressed a chaste kiss onto Magnus’ cheek before letting out a breathy giggle. He had the look of a naughty child caught doing something they knew to be wrong or against their teaching; it was endlessly endearing and Magnus pressed a happy kiss to the boys own cheek, if only to see his ivory cheeks to flare up once again.

The boy cleared his throat in response and shuffled his feet as he bit his lip in excitement. “Magnus,” he began, the little wolf that had appear earlier melting away into the adorable man Magnus knew better, “I cannot begin to explain the strength or speed of my feelings, by all accounts what I feel should to not be logical.”

The elder swallowed tightly and dragged his companion backwards through the endless rows of pottery before his legs pressed against the leg of a chair and he fell bodily downwards onto it, his arms dragging the smaller male with him. Alexander, for all his worth, did not even stumble at the manhandling and simply corrected his stance so that his body was positioned securely sideways in Magnus’ arms and his legs gracefully fell to the side of them both.

“But I will not question our love, not if _Cupid _has deigned to give us his blessing and given wind to our feelings.”

Magnus released a sigh of relief he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding and pressed a sweet kiss into the crevice of his love’s neck, taking the time to inhale the pleasant smell of roses and spices that seemed to define his Alexander. Together they stayed unmoving for a moment, their minds drifting to a world where they belonged only to themselves and were free to pursue their love without the heavy gaze of the _Domnius _and _Domina _who ruled over their lives carelessly and with little sympathy.

When his mind came back, Magnus took the time to observe his love in full, having forgone such an action when happiness had swiftly taken control of his body.

As usual, Alexander bore a lot of skin for the outside world to view, with dainty fabric covering only what was necessary and nothing more; a loincloth was not suitable for any person, but the _domina _of the house was obsessed with beauty and perfection and forced the house slaves to wear what pleased her and the guests who would frequently call upon her home.

It was no secret that the pale skin his Alexander displayed was highly valued and slaves who wore it were of the highest quality and price. Their _domina _showed him to her friends like a prize, presenting his complex like a trophy with the smallest, most translucent pieces of clothing she could.

Wet from their kisses, his lips were soft and red, tempting petals that lured Magnus in and the elder couldn’t prevent himself from pressing his own cracked lips against the youngers, revelling in the pleased hum that rose deep from within his throat. His hands began to shamelessly roam as the kiss became heated, Alexander wiggling around to straddle his lap as Magnus’ own tongue began to lick and explore the plaint mouth against his own.

Someone moaned, but Magnus couldn’t even think about who it could be as Alexander pressed his hips down sharply, crying out with pleasure as their cocks brushed against each other. Pale hands gripped his shoulders with pleasure as the two began to rock harshly against each other, the desperation and pure, animalistic _need_ to be with the other driving them wild with lust and passion.

With little hesitation, Magnus’ hand dropped to the crease of Alexander’s thigh and gripped tightly, using his strength to pull his lover impossibly closer. A startled cry of pain broke through Magnus’ haze and golden eyes flashed up into the tear-filled eyes of the younger, whose teeth now clashed together to stifle a sob.

“Alexander?” Magnus questioned softly, releasing his hold on the smaller male and giving him room to stand. His lover turned from him, shoulders riding up stiffly as his arms crossed and hands placed themselves on his hips, a vision of despair and hurt.

“Its nothing” came the choked response, small and distant amongst the shelves surrounding them.

Alexander was not a small man, he came up to Magnus’ chin and the elder knew he towered above all the other house slaves and a fair number of gladiators, but, in this moment the man looked akin to a child, hiding from adults who had scorned and chastised him.

The gladiator said nothing, simply stood and walked with great restraint to his love before turning him and cradling him to his chest, allowing the wave of tears to pass without comment or judgement. Alexander routinely faced what even gladiators shuddered to imagine, he took it every day without losing face or fighting, protecting those around him from punishment; the pressure on his shoulders was a horrific image that Magnus refused to think of.

“Tell me.” He whispered, voice pleading and arms begging as he prayed to the gods he didn’t believe in for support, for the safety of his love, for peace. “Please.” He continued when Alexander stood frozen in his arms, head down and throat closed.

“You should be getting back Magnus; Jonathon will be angry.” Came the quiet deflection as Alexander attempted to remove himself from the bracket surrounding him. Magnus let him go reluctantly, hating the separation of their heat but knowing that Alexander needed space that no amount of love could prevent.

The elder said nothing, just gazed concerned and worriedly at his companion. Jonathon most likely would be furious by now, practically steaming, and it was probable he would face a brutal training regime for the rest of the evening, but with an arena battle happening tomorrow the pallid man could not beat him for fear of angering Valentine and the citizens of Idris who had come to see him fight.

To him, Alexander was far more important than a few hours of training.

Something within his gaze must have alerted the younger to his thoughts as his shoulders slumped in defeat and he stepped forward once again, accepting the protection and warmth from the arms around him without question. Together they moved back towards the vacant chair and sat down upon it, Alexander curling into the lap beneath him as fingers combed through his hair at a reassuring pace.

“Very well Magnus. Yesterday _dominus_ realised the bruises you left on my body were no more and so took me into one of his business meetings…”

Alexander spared no detail of his most recent ordeal, taking comfort in his lovers presence and unjudging gaze which warmed and calmed him. Together they sat, unnoticed but for the flickering lights, and together they revelled in each other before time and duties tore them apart once more, parting them with a sweet kiss of hope and promise.

Magnus walked back towards the courtyard to accept his berating from Jonathon as Alexander ascended the stair to attend to his now awakened _domina, _whose sleep state had allowed him time to roam the villa ground with little disturbance. Both faces flushed with love and happiness unique to the halls of the villa, new memories of their time together far surpassing those of their first meeting.

Together they had sat for some time unnoticed, but for the flickering lights and pair of dark, calculating eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo, finally an update! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I actually spent a good amount of time on this although there is probably a fair amount of errors and mistakes. Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and anything you wanna see in the future.
> 
> P.S. Kudos to anyone who can guess what I have placed Alexander's accent as, because my description of accents are dodgy at best.


	5. Before the storm

The wind had changed.

Alec wasn’t sure exactly had drawn his attention to it, nor how long it had been happening, but the atmosphere in the _Ludus _and villa had changed to something much more dark and sinister. The very air was incredibly stifling to him now, more than he had ever felt in his lifetime of service to the Morgenstern’s. Everything seemed more subdued.

The sun no longer shone through the halls, flames now being required all day long for people to see, and the winds had turned cold and bitter; it penetrated through the flimsy material of the loincloth he wore and caused his skin to break out in goosebumps and shivers that tightened his blood and shot down his spine in painful spikes.

All the other slaves had been provided with something slightly warmer, a thicker version of their clothing, but not himself. Both Jocelyn and Valentine enjoyed watching his lithe form in the fabric he wore and so kept him suffering to please themselves.

Every moment he walked through the absent halls of marble and stone Alec felt a heavy presence weighing on him and his paranoia was starting to bother him. He felt as though the eyes of the gods and goddesses’ who ruled over his life were watching him with deadly glares and snarls of anger.

_ What was happening? _

After his wonderful talk with Magnus in the storage room a few days before, Alec had thought that everything would be a little bit brighter in his world, a little more joyful, but instead, his eyes had been opened to the despair and horror around him. Every action, every word, of the people surrounding him were poisonous, with twisted meanings and underhand motivations.

The other slaves avoided his eyes more than usual and stepped out of his way. They clutched whatever object they were using closer to them and moved on from their places, never lingering to give him a smile or brief conversation that he had come to expect. Even his closest friends, the ones who knew the darker side of the villa’s secrets were beginning to distance themselves from him.

Maia, Aline, and Lydia would simply give him a small, awkward smile or hello before moving on to whatever task they had been assigned; their eyes shone with pity and sadness and they always turned their bodies as if to embrace him when passing but they restrained from acting on the impulse.

Underhill, his closest friend, barely spoke more than a few sentences to him since that afternoon spent with Magnus in the storage room. When they both turned in for the night, the other slave stuck to his own pallet bed, turning his back and feigning sleep until Alec gave up on his attempts to start a proper conversation.

He just wanted to talk to someone again, he wanted to know what he’d done wrong.

The Morgenstern’s themselves demanded more of him than Alec could ever remember, from his first waking moment until the early morning rays shone down from the roof of the villa. They shouted and bellowed for his presence, giving him tasks that could only ever be considered useless and redundant but also ones of the utmost importance.

Clary and Jace seemed to hover around him like flies, taunting and teasing as they tripped his feet from beneath him and pulled at the skin of his shoulders. More than once had he felt Jace’s roaming hands on his body and Clary’s piercing gaze observing from a distance. It was as if the gods had granted him Magnus but taken away every other form of happiness he had in compensation.

His happiness now lingered in the dirty halls beneath his feet, risking his life throughout the day just to survive the night. How he longed to be able to just touch that golden skin one more time, feel those calloused hands brushing against him and holding him tightly, as if he was the only thing in the entire world that mattered anymore.

Since their meeting a few days prior Alec had been forced to forgo any sight of his love, his _dominus _keeping him far away from the balcony and the _Ludus _training grounds. He feasted on the whispered praises of the slaves and quenched his thirst on the voluminous praises Valentine sang to his wife when Alec was serving him. As few as the sentences Underhill spoke to him were anymore, in the blinding darkness of night time, the mand would tell him his love was safe and well within the _Ludus _walls.

As his thoughts, inevitably, turned to the beautiful soul that his heart belonged to, Alec wished that one day he could somehow introduce Magnus to his sister. Isabelle, who once had been his guiding light, had been bought by some guest of Valentine’s when she was only fourteen and taken from underneath Alec’s grasp with barely a few coins. He had neither seen or heard of her since that harrowing moment she was dragged through the villa’s doors, face a perfect picture of determination and defiance that kept him smiling through his tears.

Their personalities, that determination, and fight that burned within their souls mixed with the compassion and love of thousands was a perfect match and Alec mourned the connection the two could have formed had Isabelle been permitted to stay by his side. She had a way of lighting even the darkest of moments and easing the pain and suffering of others with her words or actions.

One day, he would escape from this place and find her.

Magnus would come with him too, of course, he could never abandon his love for such a vile place as this. Perhaps they would even return to the homeland he never knew.

In his mind Alec could imagine the moment his small family walked into the village of his parents, seeing the lush green grass surrounding them with the fields of flowers and crops growing nearby. A family he recognised by gut feeling only would come forward with open arms, accepting and loving, telling him stories of his mother with tears in their eyes and a smile of love on their lips.

A long time had passed since his mother had left with the stranger in the dark cloak and risen to her new home in the clouds, but Alec remembers being cradled in her embrace as she wove the fabric of tales from their homeland, speaking to him in a forbidden language that formed his accent to this day.

Magnus was truly the only thing keeping him breathing at the moment.

The villa, with its stifling air and oppressive atmosphere, was breaking him slowly and the natural darkness the place imbued crept in closer every day. The Morgenstern family had been becoming increasingly angry and petty in the past few days as if the very winds were changing them too, and Alec was constantly helping to repair the hurt and pain they each caused the other servants, no matter how hard they all tried to avoid his eyes during that time.

Something was happening, Alec could tell. He just hoped he and the other slaves would survive.

Keeping his head down and approaching the stairs leading to the _Ludus _below, Alec hoped to use the nighttime as a cover for his chance to see Magnus once again. It was truly a wonder he had lasted three weeks before, putting off their second meeting despite the physical pain in his chest that called to the golden eyes man that had held him so reverently. 

As they had parted from the storeroom, Alec remembered the loving way Magnus had stroked his cheeks, the heart-melting smile on his face as they arranged to meet again before too long. His very lips tingled with the sensation of the parting kiss bestowed upon him.

He snuck past the room that held Valentine and his wife, their slumbering forms lying divided from one another. From the angle he was walking, Alec could see the naked body of his _dominus_, the man had called Alec before sleeping for the sheer purpose of exhausting himself as Jocelyn watched hungrily from across the bed. Disgust, ugly and green, reared within him and a sneer gathered viciously on his face as he imagined creeping into the room of his _dominus _and _domina, _stealing one of Valentine’s weapons and hacking them both to pieces.

He imagined throwing them into the pit of the arena his love was forced to fight within, pictured a cheering crowd of former slaves eagerly watching as they were hunted across the floor and dismantled.

A sharp breeze centered his thoughts and Alec released the tense fist at his side, banishing the sickening thoughts from his mind. _Praise the Gods above_, he thought, _that I am safe from people knowing my thoughts. _If Valentine had even had a belief of such treacherous roaming around his mind, the punishment would be profound and painful.

Up ahead, shadowed by the torches adorning the walls, Alec saw the unguarded entrance to the _Ludus _steps. Since a few weeks past the servants had come to notice the gate was almost always unlocked, the security present from before now long gone, but none had attempted to pass through unless ordered by the _Dominus _for fear of the consequences should they be discovered.

Not until tonight, that was.

Taking one last cursory glance around himself, making sure to check for any sign of life down the villa’s darkened hallways and crooked corners, Alec was satisfied that no one was present to bear witness to his actions. Underhill had been fast asleep when he’d left the room, his gentle and comforting snores igniting in the stifling air surrounding them, and all slaves had retired shortly after their masters had, preparations for the next day all completed.

Alec walked forward, beyond the barriers of the metal gate and down the stairs of stone. The light was less bright now, submerging him into darkness and Alec was forced to focus on his feet lest he trip. His heart was elated where it lay beating in his chest; deep within his soul, Alec felt the call of his Gods given soulmate, the path laid out for him by Cupid calling him forward with confidence.

Magnus was awaiting him at the end of the stairs, just beyond the storage room from before, and Alec could already imagine the compassion and adoration present on his face.

It was hard for Alec to truly believe someone such as Magnus felt so strongly about him; he was a slave ruined and damaged by the hands and words of others, his mind festering with the darkness of having others continuously pressing down upon him. His very being was tainted with the horrors and hedonistic values of the freemen and women in society and not one part of him remained unscathed from their desires.

But Magnus…Magnus was a man Alec could never have even dreamed up for the Gods to send him. Strong and powerful, with a mind as quick as a fox and a wit to prove it, he lay beyond any expectations Alec had ever formed when he dared to envision someone who could love him. On the rare occasions Valentine had deemed it appropriate to show Alec off as his head house slave and body slave of the _ Domina _and taken him to watch the fights at the arena, the display of power Magnus exhibited against his opponents had swiftly carried his breath the heavens above.

It had also swiftly sent his blood further south, but the less his love knew about that, the better.

Except, whilst his fighting was formidable, it was the strength of Magnus’ compassion and care that had promptly built the foundations for the love Alec had garnered towards the older male. As with others that had come before him on that dreadful evening so long ago, Alec had expected Magnus to continue his rightful hatred and dislike, but instead, the man had been gentle with him and supportive in a genuine way that Alec had not experienced for many years.

Where others had left him to clean up and walk back to his bed with a cloud of shame blinding him and pain jarring every step, Magnus had carried him there and kissed him goodnight. Such a simple action had Alec falling headfirst into being in love; Izzy would be laughing herself to tears if she knew.

The absence of any further downward trajectory made Alec aware that he had finally reached the bottom of the staircase and arrived at his destination. He looked up carefully, squinting in the near pitch-black room to find the door out of the storeroom. No one ever came down here in the night-time and as such his way was paved only with the dim light of the moon to guide his way to where Magnus waited.

It took only a few moments for Alec to navigate his way through the labyrinth that made up the halls of the _ Ludus, _muscle memory guiding him through the multiple corners and dead-ends that confused so many others; more than once had he had unfortunate encounters with Jonathon when the older male had gotten lost. As the light from beyond the door called him forward Alec could feel his soul reaching ahead, connecting with its other half and making itself whole once again, and a weight that he didn’t even realised had settled over his shoulders vanished as he saw the figure cast in shadows up ahead.

“Alexander” A deep, quiet, hopeful voice called out. The shadow took a hesitant yet eager step forward, arms raising slightly in anticipation of an embrace and Alec could no longer hold himself back. He charged forward with Cupid’s blessing in the wind beneath his feet and leaped into the arms of his beloved; so perfectly did his body mould into Magnus’ own that Alec knew the gods had carved out space for his beloved in the absence of space his arms created.

He melted into their embrace as if their bodies had been designed to fit together and breathed in the scent of love and comfort Magnus provided.

“Magnus.” He whispered in response, voice overwhelmed with the strength of his feelings and the fulfilment of his soul,

The elder simply buried his head further into the younger’s neck and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola! I present the long-overdue next chapter of this work which really should have gone up a lot earlier but as always, I was late. Anywho I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and anything you wanna see in the next two chapters (and yes they are the final two, I've decided on seven chapters for this). A new chapter of Of Kings and Queen's should be up soon so keep your eyes peeled for that.
> 
> Stay safe guys and keep on practicing social distancing!


	6. To arms, to arms! Now or Never

Alec closed the door to his room with a harsh slam. Underhill jumped from his place by the bed and turned quickly, eyes wide in surprise at where Alec stood silently, fists clenched. “Why?” Alec wanted his voice to be strong, he wanted to possess the power inside that Valentine used to confidently command his veritable army of slaves to do his bidding.  
  
But he couldn’t. His voice shook with emotion, sadness, stress, and weariness of the past few days bleeding through as he stared down at the one person he had once thought of as his best friends, his brother in all but blood. Underhill had been the first person Alec had told about his family, about his mother’s origins in the far lands of Gaul and how she had passed it all down to him to remember, even down to his accent, the very thing that had first caught Valentine’s attention as he grew. He had listened, patiently, whilst Underhill had regaled him with his own history, his passage through the slave markets until he had ended up as a house slave of the Ludus under the command of their Dominus. So much they had suffered together, holding each other after all the parties, the beatings, and the executions. 

What had he done to so deserve the rejection of his brother?

Underhill didn’t speak, simply gulping down a nervous tremor in his throat. “Why,” Alec whispered, ashamed as his eyes grew wet, but refusing to turn his head, “Why do you hate me, what have I done?” After seeing Magnus last night, after crying to his chest and being held in his arms Alec had found he could no longer go on with the scornful and hesitant looks the other slaves continued to give him. “I thought we were friends, I thought we were going to make it out of this place together and now you hesitate to even bear witness to me.” The words became stuck in his throat, kept down by the tidal wave of fear and apprehension boiling in his stomach

“Please,” Alec hated begging, hated it with every fibre of his soul, but he could no longer find himself above such things, “tell me.” Underhill remained silent, but Alec saw the water gathering in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw as his breath became heavy and laboured. He seemed to not know what to do now, body jerking forward but remaining where it stood, eyes flickering from Alec to his bed and back, mouth parting and closing as if stuck. Finally, the tension in his shoulders dropped, sagging down until Underhill sat on the bed behind him, head falling into work-laden hands.

They made no noise, but slowly a hand was held aloft, palm up, and Alec hesitantly moved closer until their hands touched, the warmth of his friend spreading quickly up to his arm. “I’m sorry.” Andrew’s voice was soft, but burdened, “Valentine held a meeting when you were out doing chores a few days ago,” Alec remembers the strange moment when he’d been allowed to go to town with only a guard to pick up some food for the house, usually, Valentine or Jace would accompany him to make sure he didn’t embarrass the family in public, but at the time he had thought only that his Dominus was giving him more trust, more freedom. Seeing his empty bed, Alec went and sat himself down upon it, the weight of the past week forcing his legs to weaken. 

“He told us,” Andrew took a stuttered breath and buried his face deeper into his hands, “told us we weren’t allowed to talk to you or...or we’d suffer the consequences.” Alec didn’t know how to respond, surprise the least of his feelings at that moment, “He told us he had eyes everywhere and would know if we did. He...he told us it was in our best interests to distance ourselves, Alec, I didn’t want to, at least not without telling you first, but...well you know better than anyone what he’s like.”

Alec swallowed the anxiety down his throat and took Andrew’s hands delicately into his own, cupping them with softness. “Did...did he explain why?” He had to know, had to know if Valentine was planning something against him, he couldn’t live without knowing what was coming; hadn’t he served his Dominus from his very birth, hadn’t he done everything that had been asked of him without complaint and devout servitude to the family? 

Andrew shook his head, blonde curls swaying harshly with the movement, and Alec was distracted at the moment out how little grooming had happened to the slaves recently. Usually, all their hair was cut or trimmed, once a month to preserve appearances to house guests, but Alec could not recall the last time anyone had come by the house to do so, nor could he remember the last time someone had come by to sort out Jocelyn and Clary. 

His own hair now curled around his ears and lay against the very end of his neck. 

Andrew’s voice was quiet, eyes shifting from the door and Alec back again with quick speed, “He gave no reason, just a statement doused in threat. We’re scared of what might happen.” Alec wasted no time in sitting beside his friend, the pair wrapping themselves into each other's arms and laying gently down onto the bed beneath them as if no issue weighed between them. It was a horrific thought, that Valentine’s order, an order so peculiar and strange for their Dominus, came with no reasoning; it could mean any number of things. 

But Alec could not blame his friend, nor any of the other slaves, for their actions the past few days. Alone their Dominus was a fearsome man but surrounded by and with the support of his family, Valentine had a titan status, feeling bolstered by the cheers and laughter of his wife and children; it was no surprise they would heed his words without question or debate, lest they lose a limb, their life, or their position safe in the house. The mines were always dangled above them like a ghostly spectre from past slaves. 

Together, they spent the rest of the night curled into each other's embrace, holding tight to their shared bond and remembering the hardships they had faced and would continue to do so. Alec was glad to have found his friendship untarnished, even if it would need to be kept secret, but lingering thoughts of Valentine and the sudden, secret, turn from favour he found himself in was more than discomforting. 

Long after Andrew fell asleep, snoring loudly in Alec’s ear, Alec lay awake, eyes straining in the darkness. He did not fall asleep until the first rays of sun filtered across his face.

* * *

Beneath the _Ludus, _hidden away in the darkness of night and shrouded by the dim lights far away, Magnus and the other gladiators sat silently in the large common area they shared. Jonathan had been sloppy and forgot to lock their cell doors after training had finished, and with no guards at the door anymore, the entire crowd of fighters (plus Cat, who was a fighter in her own manner) was free to meet. Their rebellion was perfectly planned, roles assigned and strategy made once they were free, but now they needed to decide how to enact it with efficiency. 

If they failed, it wouldn’t be only their own lives forfeit. The entirety of the house slaves would be killed as well in a demonstration to others. For Magnus, Raphael, and Jordan, the mere thought of their actions harming their dear ones inside was worse than death itself. 

Cat, sitting central to the group with harsh lines decorating her face as she wallowed in thoughts of bloodshed and murder, broke the silence first, her voice strong but quiet against the backdrop of night. “We need to wait until the next viewing.” Besides her, Ragnor made a curious noise and Magnus caught sight of a few others looking confused at the Medicus' suggestion. Viewings happened infrequently against the parties Valentine held and only happened when he looked for a new sponsor or when tricking an old one into giving him more money. 

“Cat,” Magnus spoke up, voice hoarse from disuse and remembrance of Alexander coming to him only last night with tears in his eyes and distress in his voice, “that could be months away, years maybe, we don’t have time to wait that long.” Around him came a chorus of affirmative noises and nods as the gladiators ruminated on the last viewing that had occurred almost eight months prior. It had lasted humiliating hours as the gladiators were made to trot out like horses in the yard, fight against each other for amusement, and stand in the hot sun for hours upon hours. The viewing prior to that one, over two years ago, had ended with one gladiator being ordered to kill another; Magnus could still remember the agonising cries and the way they found the killer's body the next day hanging from a rope in his cell. 

With a sly smile, Cat looked up at Magnus, her eyes roaming the mass of bodies around her as she leaned in conspiringly. The others found themselves drawn into her magnetism, leaning forward almost subconsciously at her look; Cat had these men wrapped around her finger and knew how to use it. “The other day Valentine ordered me to make sure the medical room was in top quality order, completely tidy and free from bloodstains. He demanded that by tomorrow he wanted no one resting inside and for all gladiators to be in fighting condition.” Cat leaned back up and the crowd followed, hanging onto her every word; even Raphael who had no love for the opposite sex found himself enthralled in her words.

“This is a request,” she began again, “that is only ever asked of me prior to a viewing.” 

Magnus felt something like hope building up within him at his friends' words. A viewing was the perfect time to conduct the rebellion, Valentine and his friends were in a relaxed state as they drank wine and ate heavily throughout the day so by the time the gladiators were ready to be put on display, the high-class citizens could do little more than watch and weakly cheer the festivities on. In his head Magnus could picture the scene perfectly, Valentine and his cohort would be stood at the front of the balcony, lazily looking upon them and ordering them about whilst the house slaves, whilst  _ Alexander,  _ stood behind them ready and waiting with heavy pitchers and trays. 

Magnus would be made to fight, which was a given as the _Ludus _champion, and most probably would be put against Raphael, who Valentine enjoyed watching move about the floor in a ‘serpentine way’. They would pretend to fight, maybe get in a couple of scratches to make it look real and distract the nobles from seeing the other gladiators slowly leave the sands behind and troop up the stairs and into the main villa. With the house slaves behind them, the balcony to meet them, and Magnus and Raphael below, Valentine and his little group would be trapped, forced into a tiny corner as the slaves he so loved to lord over would reign hellfire upon him with their blades. 

They would run, fast and unseen through the city, freeing any others whom they came across and burning the wreckage behind. They would stain the city with roman blood and watch as it flooded the sea, carried away by the sweat and tears of the slaves they had driven for so long. 

Magnus came to himself to see the group around watching him with curious but blood-thirsty eyes. They did not need Cat, nor Magnus himself as their unofficial leader, to tell them that the viewing was the perfect opportunity for their rebellion to start. Nor did Magnus need to ask to discern the hunger and eagerness in their eyes as they imagined the revenge they could get and tasted the freedom they so longed for on their tongues.

And so Magnus spoke to them all about his plan, listening in turn to their suggestions for improvement and finalised the decisions and movements that would greet them tomorrow. They had but one chance to get this right, only one chance before their lives, and the lives of their loved ones would be tossed away like rubbish should they fail; it did not do for them to linger on the pain that would await them should failure become inevitable. Magnus could only hope that if such a thing would occur, he would have the chance to see his Alexander again, and explain and apologise for his actions.

  
Tomorrow Valentine’s guests would come for a performance, and Magnus vowed to all the gods above, _they would get one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry this story hasn't been updated for such a long time! But I hope you enjoyed this and await the final chapter!
> 
> Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't, and any suggestions for the final chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, hope you enjoyed this work! Please don't hesitate to leave a comment on what you liked, didn't and any thoughts you have about the next chapter


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